Jousting
by Strapless
Summary: An unusual acquaintance from the Riders teaches Keladry of Mindelan a thing or two about playing at soldiers, literally and figuratively. A birthday fic for Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod.


**Disclaimer: **It's probably quite clear that I have no ownership claims to the characters, world, etc. I'm simply playing in the world Ms. Pierce created.

**Author's Notes:** Written for the lovely May (Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod) on the occasion of her birthday, with belated well wishes!

"**Jousting"**

-- -- --

It was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever seen. At one end of the field, a fully armored knight, looming in a solidly metallic sort of way on his warhorse. A hoof fairly the size of a dinner plate dug impatient gouges out the turf. When reprimanded, a shake of the massive head sent metal plates to clanging.

At the other end—not so much. The pony looked like a toy draped in a bed sheet. She imagined it was glaring stoically through the oversized eye holes, hindquarters twitching under the hurriedly pinned and pleated caparisoning that had been made with a much larger beast in mind. Her eyes were watering from the color combination alone, a garish harlequin that no self-respecting nobleman would claim as house colors. The knight—if he could be called that—had outfitted himself in more practical leathers, worn and weathered to a dark brown against the dull sheen of a borrowed breastplate.

The rider reached for the offered lance and it appeared his pony had reached its limit. They managed to execute a full circle in reverse without once tripping over the tassels dangling under the pony's hocks.

_Tassels. Of all the gods blessed things. Tassels._

Kel pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. The back and forth twisting of the waiting knight's helmet was the only indication that Lord Raoul was shaking his head. It was impossible to tell whether it was from amusement or disbelief. Perhaps both.

A smattering of applause and the pony's rider had the lance in hand. He made a short bow to his admirers, the lance dipping loosely for a moment and causing the pony to pin its ears back. The rider tapped his visor down smartly with a fist. A companion stood on her toes at his pony's side, her mouth moving in speech. He leaned down to hear, shook his head. She spoke again. More head shaking. The woman stood down and flapped a hand in dismissal, the universal sign of 'never mind.' She moved to the side, arms crossed and hip belligerently thrust out to such a degree that Kel knew she had found her counterpart on Raoul's opponent's side.

She thought about closing her eyes as the jousters gathered for the first pass. She lost the opportunity in the travesty that followed. The pony broke prematurely from the start, likely leaping out from under the unfamiliar rustle of its oversized costuming. To his credit, the pony's rider managed to get his lance down with a minimum of swaying. Raoul spurred his warhorse forward a second behind the pony's start, lance leveled almost obligingly. A yard out from what would've been a perfect hit—and the end to this mockery—and the pony performed a perfect sidepass maneuver. At the gallop. Raoul's lance sailed harmlessly through empty air as the pony's rider swerved back on course to howls of laughter.

The second pass was technically perfect on Raoul's part. By all accounts the pony's rider would have been airborne if he hadn't taken one look at what was basically a sapling tree aimed at his heart and ducked. The crowd loved it.

By the time the rider had regained control of his pony and gathered for the third and final pass, all Kel could think was that Lord Wyldon would have had a heart attack by now. What happened next was either a tragedy or a blessing in disguise. The pony wasn't even halfway down the list when it crow-hopped two strides, rattled its rider loose in the saddle, and let out a massive buck. The rider's lance bobbled down, missing the pony's head by inches, and caught the tip in the ground. It happened very quickly, but the combination of an unsecure rider gripping a solid length of wood lodged into a pivot point essentially resulted in a human catapult right out of the saddle.

And if Kel's lessons in mathematics had been correct, the rider was going to land right about—_ouch!_

Unfortunately for the pony's rider, she had been an excellent student. She winced as the rider went flying in an ungainly array of limbs and came down in a sprawling roll across the ground. His pony blew past him, clearly pleased with itself. The onlookers didn't seem to know whether to be worried or entertained. The woman she'd seen earlier was the first to run out onto the field, trailed by what looked like a healer and the Riders' Commander.

She found Raoul circling his horse back down the lists, his lance held at rest. A movement from the pony's rider drew her attention. He had rolled onto his back and using first one arm, now the other, hoisted himself into a sitting position. He was momentarily obscured by the people who had rushed out to meet him, then by the bulk of Raoul's gelding. The knight lowered his lance and the rider rose into view, hanging on to the end as the warhorse backed up. Applause broke out across the crowd at the rider's reappearance.

Apparently still in good humor, the rider released the lance and dusted his rear off with exaggeration before executing a dramatic bow. He staggered as he straightened and the woman ducked under his arm, supporting his weight. As she steered him from the field amid cheers, he must have said something, because she paused a moment before reaching over with her unoccupied hand and delivering a solid smack to his helmet.

Kel shook her head, waiting to take Raoul's horse and telling herself to be glad that miraculously no one had been seriously hurt for the sake of a silly bet.

--

She was grooming Raoul's warhorse when he appeared. She wouldn't even have known he was there if it weren't for the sudden munching sounds she heard coming from his pony. Kel peeked under Drum's neck. There had been no fanfare, no ebullient greeting, no gaggle of laughing friends. Just a single Rider with a fistful of carrots, quietly rubbing his pony's forehead as it crunched away happily at its treats. His blond hair was arranged in a style only described as "helmet hair," but his eyes were bright and lively. He was older than her, but the lines on his face were from sun and smiles, not time.

"You weren't very impressed, were you?" he suddenly said.

Kel blinked. Was he talking to her? Or the pony?

Next thing she knew he was mirroring her position, peering at her from the other side of Drum's neck. His eyes were very blue.

"I mean, you didn't _seem_ very impressed."

Kel jumped back, nearly dropping the brush she'd been using on Drum's coat. "I beg your pardon?" If she hadn't known he was Commander Tourakom's second in command and in all likelihood the next Rider Commander, she would have ignored him in hopes that he'd leave her alone. Etiquette dictated otherwise.

He appeared around Drum's hindquarters. After a testing nudge to see if the gelding would stand in place, the Rider leaned his shoulder against the horse's massive hindquarters, to all appearances quite comfortable.

"I said, you didn't look very impressed by the display of chivalrous combat out there. Go ahead, you can be honest."

Kel set the brush back to Drum's coat with a sidelong glance at the Rider. A few seconds later, another sidelong glance, and he was still there. She considered holding her tongue, but felt the need to speak her mind overpower that sense. "Honestly? I think that was a silly display in which someone could have been seriously injured."

"Fair enough," he replied, cheerfully unperturbed, but she didn't miss the hand that surreptitiously rubbed up against his no doubt bruised ribs. "I've been worse injured in practice bouts, to tell the truth."

"That wasn't a practice bout. That was—" she cut herself off before she said something untoward and attacked a sweat mark on Drum's neck.

"An insult to chivalry? A mockery of knighthood? A travesty of the highest degree with no purpose but the sport and entertainment of the common masses? A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse, and I but a lonely player upon the stage of the world with naught but a pony to offer my humblest and most inferior challenge?"

Kel was all but obligated to turn and blink at the man.

He shrugged, a grin tugging the corners of his mouth. "By the time I was four I could recite the soliloquy from _Ethelbert and the Pirate_ word for word."

"Is there a point to this?"

"I had the entire play memorized by heart by the time I was fourteen. _What rogues the law doth condone / By the sea we sail, our mistress own. _My family's Player folk. Not a drop of military blood in them, yet here I am, the most unlikely of soldiers."

Honestly, where was this going?

"And here you are, another unlikely," he continued. "Keladry, right?"

"Of Mindelan," she confirmed.

"Evin Larse of the Queen's Riders, and more recently, the world."

"Yes, I know."

His eyebrows shot upwards. "My reputation precedes me." He didn't sound very surprised for someone who was doing a good job of looking like it.

"Somewhat," she conceded. She knew better than to assume rumors for truth, at least not in the presence of their subject.

"As does yours. I'm sure you expected that, of course. You're a very serious thing, aren't you?" he added when she didn't respond.

Of all the things the man had said, that phrase made her school her expression into careful blandness. It was a good thing he had told her he was from a Player family, otherwise she'd have no explanation for why he was so ridiculous. One would think a person with his ranking among the Riders would have more severity and discipline of personality. She set the brush back into its kit with deliberate care. Dusting her hands off and straightening to face him, she realized he was just a tad taller than her.

"The Yamani say you're only as sharp as the edge on your sword," she told him.

He spread his arms with a grin. "I'm a Rider. I don't carry a sword."

Kel frowned. "It's an expression," she replied dryly, irritated. He had said he was Player-folk, hadn't he? Surely he ought to gleam onto it.

"Ah yes, I know. A suitable simile, but rather limiting."

"It implies discipline."

"Of which we've all had plenty, otherwise we wouldn't be at this point in our respective careers. Here's one for you: you're only as strong as the tables you dance on. There's no rule against having fun, you know. With this kind of job, you need a few what-the-blazes-did-I-do-last-night mornings to balance out the doom and gloom. When was the last time you actually enjoyed yourself?"

Kel opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Somehow saying she'd watched Dom beat Lerant at cards two nights ago didn't seem like a good answer anymore. It certainly wasn't at the level of mock jousting matches.

The Rider had the tact not to point out her lack of reply. "If you ever need a respite from the toils of knighthood, come visit with the Riders." He stepped back from Drum, slapping the gelding lightly on the rump. "Look us up if the Seventh Rider Group is in range. Or even the Seventeenth." His smile was contagious. "That's an open invitation, Keladry of Mindelan." With a cocky salute, he disappeared around Drum.

Kel found herself standing in place, motionless, for a good few seconds.

His voice rang over Drum's back. "Loverboy, my wild stallion, what will it be tonight? The alfalfa or the barely? Perhaps some bran, maybe oats?"

She scrambled around to peer under Drum's neck, looking at the sight of the Rider walking away, his pony prancing with excitement on the end of its lead beside him. What a peculiar person.

As she stepped back, shaking her head, the breeze carried a whistled tune towards her. Despite herself, Kel felt the corners of her mouth tugging into a grin at the sound of the opening ditty of _Ethelbert and the Pirate_.

-- -- --


End file.
